


The Bite of Red Riding Hood

by CrazyJanaCat



Series: Harrymort One-shots [15]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Imprisonment, M/M, Werewolf Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 06:39:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8317675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyJanaCat/pseuds/CrazyJanaCat
Summary: It hurt more than anything he had ever felt at night, but it were always the mornings that were the worst of all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another fairy tale inspired fanfic. I realized I really like writing those ^_^

Loud howls of agony rang through the halls of the dungeons, making Ron tense in fear. He had been captured two days ago by the Dark Lord’s agents after having been on the run for a little over a year. He’d been tortured for information, but after he refused to give them anything, the Dark Lord had _‘sentenced him to death by the beast’s bite.’_ He had no idea what that meant, but it didn’t sound very good.

“Move, blood traitor!” his guard, one of the Lestrange brothers hissed, pushing him forward.

Ron grumbled under his breath and reluctantly continued walking again. The howls and screams became louder by every step he set closer to the ‘beast’. They sounded barely human, making Ron unable to tell if they came from another victim or the ‘beast’ itself. He swallowed nervously.

Eventually, they came to a stop in front of a large, heavy metal door. The screaming from inside had finally quieted down to pathetic whimpers for the time being and Lestrange turned to look at Ron with a mad grin.

“If you survive the night, you’re free to leave again,” he said.  
“With your life intact and the personal congrats of our Lord.”

Now that was just suspicious.

“Is that so?” he asked warily.

“Don’t get your hopes up though. No one ever survived before,” the man laughed cruelly.

Ron scowled and waited tensely as the Death Eater undid several heavy magical locks before opening the door and shoving the redhead inside. Ron shouted and almost tripped. Behind him, the door fell closed again with a loud bang and he could hear Lestrange lock it again.

Nervously, he looked around. The room was dark, with only one single window high up in the wall, where the silver rays of the full moon shone through and illuminated the space. Large claw marks were scratched in the dark grey stones. The walls and floor was spotted with dried blood and newer blood still dripping down and when Ron looked up, he could see even more blood up on the ceiling.

Another pained whimper had him looking over to the darkest and furthest corner of the cell. There, another figure was sitting curled up with their head on their knees. They were completely hidden underneath a bright red cloak. It was old and ratted and was ripped up a lot. It had several darker spots too, which Ron could easily tell was blood. He swallowed and stepped closer.

“H-hello?” he asked quietly.

The person tensed and seemed to curl even more into themselves.

“… Stay away,” they said hoarsely.

It was a male voice, one that sounded old and broken from a lot of screaming. However, the patches of visible skin were pale and young-looking. He clearly had a lot of scars, sure, but Ron had a hard time believing that whoever this was, they were past 30. They must have ruined their voice somehow. Probably with screaming if earlier was any indication.

As Ron watched, another ripple of agony went through the stranger and he started screaming again. Worried, he stepped closer, ready to ask if there was anything he could do to help, but as soon as he stepped into reach, the stranger pushed him away with surprising force.

“I said stay away!” the stranger shouted.

The hood of his red cloak fell off as he looked up and Ron froze as his eyes were locked with bright, shiny green. He gasped and fell to his knees. Ignoring the earlier warnings, he crawled over and hugged his presumed dead best friend.

“Harry!”

Harry whimpered and shuddered as a new wave of agony racked his thin frame. Ron tried to hug his friend closer, but Harry started shouting in a panic and pushed him off.

“Don’t!” he yelled frantically, his voice cracking.

As soon as Ron had back off, Harry fell to the ground with another scream of pure agony. His cloak had fallen off entirely, revealing he was completely naked underneath with only a thick leather collar festering him with a chain to the wall. Ron watched as Harry’s muscles rippled painfully under his skin and he moved a bit further back.

“What’s going on?!” he asked frantically.

“O-out of reach…” Harry wheezed.  
“I’ll explain when you’re… out of reach.”

Ron nodded and moved to sit next to the door, in the corner opposite from Harry. Nodding in thanks, Harry sat back up and took a deep breath as he pulled the cloak back over his shoulders.

“What happened to you?” Ron asked softly.

It was a very pressing question, seeing as Harry was not only supposed to be dead for over a year, but he was in a dungeon cell in the Dark Lord’s castle and covered in scars, as if he’d taken on an entire werewolf pack on his own.

“You went into the Forest to meet with the Dark Lord and you never came out…”

“I thought if I let him think I died for a while, I could get the advantage of a surprise attack,” Harry croaked in that strange old man voice.  
“But he must have guessed it hadn’t worked because he handed me over to Greyback with the order that if I was still alive, he had to give me the Bite…”

Ron tensed and his eyes widened in horror, but that soon switched to worry as Harry doubled over and groaned in pain once again. His face was sickly pale and he looked like he was dying.

“I was left with him and his pack for an entire month, as their bitch,” Harry spat bitterly as he had recovered a bit again.  
“After that, I was taken here, and I’ve been in this rotten dungeon ever since. The only visitors I get are Voldemort… and people like you…”

Ron scowled confused.

“… People like me?” he asked.

Harry grabbed at his head and whimpered, but still nodded.

“People send to die,” he groaned.

And then he was screaming again. Ron had to press his hands over his ears as the shrieks reached new volumes. If this happened more often, then he wasn’t surprised Harry’s voice was ruined beyond salvation. He was actually surprised he still had any voice left at all.

His eyes widened as Harry struggled to his feet and pulled the cloak off with a low groan. He was hunched over. Ron watched in horror as bones cracked and reset while muscles moved underneath pale skin. Coarse black hair started growing all over his friend’s frail form while he filled in more. Large claws grew out of his fingers, replacing his nails. It was like something out of a horror story.

Only then did Ron remember Harry’s earlier words. Fenrir Greyback had been ordered to give Harry the Bite if he was still alive. And Harry was still alive…

“Bloody Hell! You’re a werewolf, Mate!” he exclaimed.

His only answer was a low, threatening growl before Harry-Wolf reared up in its two hind legs and howled at the moon. The sound rattled Ron’s heartstrings with how intensely sad it sounded, and he almost wanted to reach out to comfort his best friend.

That thought was gone in the instant Harry-Wolf locked eyes with him. They were even brighter than they had been before, shining almost as brightly as the moon. Two killing curses staring at him without any recognition or thought in their depts. Only pain and sadness.

Harry-Wolf growled again and approached in slow steps until the chain on his collar hung tight. The creature sniffed at Ron, who was only barely out of reach now and growled again. The redhead swallowed nervously and looked at the collar. It’s leather was worn and cracked and didn’t look as if it would be able to hold for much longer anymore. He didn’t think it would hold for the whole night.

“H-Harry, please,” he tried in a fearful whisper.  
“I-I know you’re still in there, Mate. Please.”

It seemed to work, as Harry-Wolf blinked as if confused and sat down. His head cocked to the side and he stared at Ron, seemingly waiting for something. Carefully, the redhead stood up, his eyes never leaving the terrifying form of his best friend and he shuffled closer, reaching out with one hand.

Harry-Wolf gave an angry howl and lunged at him, his jaws snapping. Ron screamed in agony as his arm was caught between razor sharp teeth that easily bit through bone. Ron scrambled back, pale faced and cradling the stump of his arm while Harry-Wolf retreated a little with Ron’s hand still in his bloody maw.

Back in his own corner, the creature, Voldemort’s ‘Beast’, dropped the severed hand on the red cloak before he turned back towards Ron, bloodlust alight in his shiny green orbs. He lunged with a terrifying howl. Ron pressed himself flat against the wall with a fearful whimper as Harry-Wolf was once again pulled back by the chain. The beast gave a pathetic whine as it was hurled on its back with enough force that a human’s neck would have long snapped.

But this was a werewolf, and a big one too. Harry-Wolf just got back up and shook his head before glaring back towards Ron, as if it was his fault. Understanding that its victim was out of its reach, the wolf started pacing back and forth, his angry eyes not once leaving Ron as if he was waiting for Ron to leave his corner by himself.

Ron might not be the smartest wizard around, but he wasn’t _that_ stupid either. Losing one hand was enough of a lesson for him.

As if he had heard that thought, Harry-Wolf turned back to his corner and plopped down on the cloak and started chewing on the hand. Ron winced at the sound of bones snapping and the squish of blood and juicy flesh being consumed by his once-best friend. He tightened his grip on his bleeding stump, trying to keep himself from bleeding out.

He was already feeling woozy, but that might just be the fear. He was cold too, but it was still winter, and there was no glass in the window, only iron bars, so the wind got in just as easily as the light of the moon. Ron wondered how Hermione was doing out there. He hoped she’d be alright and that maybe she could defeat Voldemort and save Harry. If possible him too, but he wasn’t really expecting he’d make it until the morning.

Feeling sick, Ron crawled forward a bit and threw up. This whole thing was so messed up, it made him literally nauseous. He was dizzy and tired, but he still crawled back into his corner and curled up, shivering in cold. Harry-Wolf was staring at him, as if knowing it was only a matter of time before he had Ron in his claws. The redhead gave a weak sob in fear.

“P-please, Harry,” he whimpered.  
“Please, just… D-don’t do this…”

Instead of answering, Harry-Wolf leaned back on his hind legs and jumped with an animalistic roar.

The collar snapped.

.              .              .               .              .

When Voldemort entered the dungeon cell, Harry was lying curled up and crying in his usual corner, his blood-soaked cloak wrapped around his shivering frame. The entire place reeked of blood and death and the Weasley’s mangled corpse was lying near the wall on the other side. His body was ripped open and cut savagely to pieces. His face was mangled beyond recognition, his innards strewn around the room, those that weren’t eaten at least.

He laughed amused and strode forward where Harry now lay tense. Grinning, Voldemort pulled the cloak away and threw it to the side, before rolling Harry on his back with his bare foot. Puffy red eyes looked up at him with so much pain and sadness it almost had the Dark Lord cum in his robes.

“Why do you keep doing this?” Harry croaked with difficulty.

His throat always sounded even more ruined after a full moon night than usual.

“Until no more of those rebels exist,” Voldemort replied.  
“And until you are broken beyond repair.”

Harry closed his eyes in defeat and curled back up on his side.

“I’m already broken,” he whispered hoarsely.

Voldemort chuckled softly at that and knelt down behind Harry. The young man barely reacted as the Dark Lord carded long fingers through his matted, dirty hair. His other hand came to rest on Harry’s leg and slowly started petting him there. He rubbed soothing circles, letting his hand travel closer and closer to Harry’s inner thighs with every movement. Still, the young prisoner didn’t react at all, too used to the Dark Lord’s antics.

“Broken maybe, but not irreparably so,” Voldemort agreed softly.  
“You still believe I can be stopped, even if you’re not the one to do it.”

His hand in Harry’s hair tightened and forced the young man to look up at Voldemort while he roughly grabbed his prisoner’s crotch with his other hand. Harry’s eyes snapped open and his whimpered in pain. Voldemort sneered down at him and leaned closer until they were almost kissing.

“You still _hope_.”

 


End file.
